You Always Remember Your First

The surprising things AI told me about me, and my situationship with algorithms

I AI’ed myself for the first time, and I’m not gonna lie: it was spooky, flattering, intriguing, completely spot-on, occasionally way off-base, and all around a weird rabbit hole of mirrors that I won’t forget. The interesting thing is if I AI myself tomorrow, it’ll be completely different, as will the next day, and the next day.

For example, among the many prompts generated by AI about my writing, one was “Tell me more about Katrina Woznicki's writing style.” Well, shoot. If someone asked me this at a bar, I wouldn’t know what to say. When I began the UCLA Extension screenwriting certificate program in 2022, I was asked about my brand or writing style. I told the UCLA representative I had no idea, so he asked me to name what I watched. I ran off a few titles and he said, “I would say your brand leans towards social commentary.”

This turns out to be true. My rom-com is social commentary. My horror WIP is social commentary. This Substack is social commentary. AI agrees, noting my observations about defining success on one’s own terms (holy crap, that’s true!), cultivating resilience, and navigating mid-life while exploring the “nuances of place and identity” (holy crap, that’s true, too!). AI adds that my writing style is “evocative, thought-provoking…with an emphasis on place” and that my prose is “clear and engaging.”

Well, shucks, AI, thanks! (Or “A1” as the insipid Secretary of Education put it; though A1’s Instagram reply was BRILLIANT!!! Super smart—more on Instagram below).

Surprisingly, the somewhat gushing AI response meant a lot after enduring years and years of old white dudes ripping up my soon-to-be clear and engaging prose with their red pens and strong opinions. Thank you, old white dudes, for the thick skin, and thank you, AI, for leaving me flattered, humbled and further confused about my situationship with technology because I can’t seem to put a label on what this is.

AI cited specific examples of my writing, such as “It Can Be Beautiful For Everyone,” which won the 2025 Solas Awards Grand Prize, and “Under A Blood Red Sun,” both published by Panorama, where I write a column about life in Los Angeles, with the latest installment now available in audio. (Audio! Okay, tech is cool!!) It’s really weird to read about yourself, and weird/fun/cool to hear your writing being read by some software program you’ve never heard of.

Once I stopped blushing, I dug a little deeper. AI was more right than wrong, but it did cite a few travel articles I had never written, once referencing my experience with a waiter in Paris. Wait, what waiter? And Paris when? I’ve written about an experience with a waiter in Havana, but never Paris. This turned out to be a blatant error; when I clicked on the reference, there was no mention of my name, so I am not sure how AI pulled this into its aggregated response. Like a contrite boyfriend, AI acknowledges its mistakes but wow, a lot was right. Did I mention this was weird?

What gets reflected back, what gets picked up—and why? Does anyone really know? This AI exercise reminded me of how my students remember some small tidbit that I said to them three months prior that made some significant impression on them. No one knows what’s going to stick, and for all my anti-branding ranting, being anti-brand seems to be evolving into, well, my brand.

I might’ve unintentionally branded myself at school, too, where students are brand savvy. I have a few key catch phrases I always use to kick off explaining expectations and instructions at the start of every class, and apparently one phrase caught on so much that at the end of the year, students asked me to write it on their backpacks or T-shirts. Middle school is high energy, and my go-to phrase that just kinda happened is “Chill Vibes.” I write “Chill Vibes” on the white board every time. Every. Time. If class gets too loud, I’ll say “Are these chill vibes?” The class will say no, and things simmer down. These two words have proven to be effective redirection. “Chill vibes” is not in any classroom management instruction I’ve encountered. This phrase vibed with students to the point where I overheard one boy tell another boy who was being disruptive, “Bro! Chill vibes!” and he meant it. The other kid quieted down. When I told my GenZ daughter this, she said, “Mom, you’ve branded yourself. You’re an influencer.”

Yikes. Maybe?

A cornerstone of branding is consistency, and without trying, I am consistent, in and out of the classroom, on and off the page. AI seems to think so, too. I consistently return to key themes often using landscape as character. AI cited this Substack as an example, and now that I’ve written more about branding and identity and influencing here on Substack, AI may one day cite this, too.

Welcome to the algorithmic echo chamber where I write stuff (now called content creation) that might appear in someone else’s algorithm that might come across as brand impact because I’m reinforcing key messages about myself that might later appear in someone else’s search engine (which, by the way, Instagram is about to become a bigger engine of SEO since GenZers prefer searching via social media versus Google) that might one day show up in an AI feed when I or a complete stranger or someone I knew back in the third grade types in my name.

Too much? Yes, all of it. That run-on sentence, algorithms, echo chambers, all of it.

Briefly circling back to the Instagram-as-search-tool thing, this interesting Glossy article explains why, noting the younger generation’s ease and dependence on imagery over text, something I’ve definitely noticed when teaching middle school. Google has started indexing Instagram, or as the article puts it, Instagram’s “metadata will now be scraped by Google.”

Whew, that sounds invasive! Scraping? Also, is your head spinning from all this digital momentum? Mine is. I quit most social media except Instagram, and while my caption game is strong, I’m not sure if it’s scrape-worthy, though after this AI self-discovery experience, who knows? But captions and hashtags are gonna be scraped so post mindfully.

No wonder there’s a nostalgia for analog media.

I get algorithm fatigue easily–maybe quicker than most–and I likely won’t AI myself again anytime soon (that might not be true, I don’t yet know). There’s so much over-sharing and trauma dumping, and yes, there’s an audience for everything, and I’ve learned I am not that audience. I don’t want to know everyone’s feelings all the time–I just don’t. If we’re sharing feelings, then it’s in person, over wine and gluten-free junk food or cocktails the color of birds found in rainforests.

Those are my boundaries.

Here in the Substackverse, I’ve “manipulated” my algorithm to the best of my ability so that my Substack feed is top-heavy with pictures of: Paris, travelogue, flowers, and attempts–successful or epic failures–at cake decorating because the content saturation is too much. There were WAY too many feelings and daily affirmations on my Substack, so I changed that shit up quick: the Eiffel Tower and cupcakes and people’s watercolors of chickens. I’m calling this digital resilience.

Which brings me to analog media or what my daughter endearingly refers to as “physical media.” For me, analog means primarily books, vinyl, and travel triptychs, including a 1932 travel brochure about San Diego that includes maps, recommended hotels, cleaners, hair stylists, and restaurants as well as a palm reader and where to get breakfast for 15 cents. I never got into CDs or DVDs even when they were the things to buy. This summer, my daughter came home with a box of tape cassettes, CDs, and vinyl from her friend’s mother’s garage. Tape cassettes! Mixtapes! I picked up one cassette and handled it like it was some delicate fossil about to decompose in my hand.

Post-pandemic, it appears we’re in a growing undercurrent towards IRL experiences. Swipe culture is dying with speed dating venues selling out as singles get tired of dating apps with pay walls. Substack used to feel like a virtual Algonquin Round Table with emerging writers sharing interesting work, and now Substack feels like a very crowded party where we’re all yelling to be heard, and the floor is super sticky from spilled booze. Instagram long ago stopped being the fun place to share your vacation pics; captions are carefully crafted as part of your brand, with Instagram now becoming a go-to source for online searching.

I don’t have rose-colored glasses about the good ol’ days because they were dominated by CIS white male Christian norms and I’m done with all that, but when it comes to my media diet and IRL, there’s something perfect and irreplaceable about the click of playing a mixtape or the soft scratch of a record ending. There’s something perfect and irreplaceable about flirting at a bar and having no idea that you would be flirting at a bar versus swiping profiles. There’s something perfect and irreplaceable about the smell of libraries and shelves of dusty old books versus another screen with more content. I love Spotify algorithms, but I still need the tangible world. I don’t want to know everything all the time.

So, where does this leave me and tech? Likely right where we started, with me AI’ing myself and then reading about brands and metadata scraping and then feeling weird followed by a rushed hug to my books and vinyl where I shout, “IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU!!!” It leaves me watching my daughter admire a box full of old cassette tapes because they might as well be moon rocks to her. It leaves me deleting apps and social media accounts and then making really great friends through Instagram–seriously, I have formed a few solid friendships specifically through Instagram. I met the talented Blair Glaser through Instagram, she’s nearby, we have coffee, and she writes a very thoughtful Substack on human intelligence called The HI Stack that you should check out. Google can scrape whatever, but social media can truly be social.

I’ll AI myself again at some point–it’s like trying on lingerie in a very over-lit dressing room, feeling pretty and exposed all at once. And maybe this is human history with new tools, from fire to AI, the “Wow, WTF” reaction, the “this feels good—maybe/kinda/sorta—what else can it do?” reaction.

Here I am, Internet. I’ve known you since you were in diapers. Let’s do this.

P.S. Is anyone having a carefree summer? No. I am craving a vanilla summer now like you wouldn’t believe. Vanilla is the new safe-and-stable. Chaos continues, and L.A. is still taking hits, and don’t even get me started on the racist raids that are the wrath of Stephen Miller. Santa Monica is EMBARRASSED AF about that twisted dude. Is there a dystopia mixtape yet? Someone or many someones are working on that somewhere.

Meanwhile, not vanilla but more gossamer is a replayed tune on my Spotify: “She’s My Baby” by Mazzy Star, which was released in 1993 and immediately takes me back to every college bar I ever danced in. This song is time travel. And on the turntable at the moment is the god formerly known as Prince, specifically his 1983 album “Piano and a Microphone.” Rolling Stone called this album “brilliant” because it is, and I feel sorry for anyone who doesn’t like Prince and am jealous of anyone who hasn’t yet listened to this album because to hear it for the first time is like being bathed in warm gold (cuz that’s how we roll at Chez Woz). It’s only 34 minutes, but trust me, it’ll be 34 awesome minutes, and if you don’t think so then we’re not compatible in any way. Besides, you’ve waited longer for DoorDash.

I discovered this album last year with a true WTF moment, but I am often late to most parties. 2025 has been a shitshow year, so it’s no surprise I’m going back to the 80s and 90s for some calm. Things were easier then, and hopefully, Stephen Miller and his ilk will be held accountable, and things will become easier going forward.

Be kind. Stay connected. Read stuff. Be creative.